Archive for May, 2005

i wsa robed!!!!!!!!

May 29th, 2005
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XXXtreme Machine

xxxtreme machnei walks ot the ring wit mik in hadxxxtreems musik plaies loud as he gets ni ring to huge cheeres his girlfreen marsha is with him wearin nothin

Xxtrmee macine: lisetin fukrs i want a remacht wih the hardkor titel i was robed fuccers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im not fokin playn arund no mor fokker i want anudder mathc yu sory ass foks steve stunots cheeted hes a fukker give me my macht beeeeotches

xxxtreme droped the mic an fingres marsha in teh ring than leafs two huge pops

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Joint Jihad

May 28th, 2005
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Rob Van Spam

[We open to an undisclosed, generic looking room which is filled with smoke. All we can hear is someone blowing a whistle and jumping about. The camera moves in and we see Rob Van Spam just finishing a hand-rolled cigarette sitting next to Alan Qaida and Bill Alfalfa.]

RVS: Heyyyy, Mr. Camera Man, what’s up?

Clive: I’m here for your promo.

RVS: Dood, that’s awesome. Uhhhh, what should I talk about?

Clive: Errr, just say how you feel after losing against Atomo at that PPV thing and missing out on getting a title.

Bill Alfalfa: He didn’t lose to Atomo, he was disqualified. Just because the ref is a pussy who doesn’t like seeing people getting put through tables does not mean that he lost to Atomo, just that the ref is a homo.

Clive: Well, it was more like pushed off the side of a table and it is his job to hand out DQs if the match gets too retarded.

BA: The point is I am a much better referee than that damn Generic Ref. I call it straight down the middle baby… when it’s one of these guys making the cover.

RVS: And I’ve got to give props to that douja guy for taking a shit into that washing machine, that was awesome.

Alan Qaida

AQ: …

RVS: Hey, cheer up Sab… uhh Al, we’ll pick up a win one of these days. I am, after all, Mr. Sunday Morning, the whole fudging show…

[RVS points his thumbs at his face.]

RVS: … Rob… Van… Spam.

AQ: …

Clive: How do YOU feel, Al, about what happened at whatever BOB’s last show was?

AQ: …

BA: Al is the most homicidal, regicidal, matricidal terrorist in BOB today! All he cares about is killing those who oppose his EXTREME beliefs with tables and chairs and stuff. Atomo doesn’t seem worth it as he teams up with guys that get pooped into, but that DQ has tarnished our image.

RVS: Mr Camera dude, you wanna toke?

[Van Spam holds out another hand-rolled cigarette to Clive.]

Clive: No thanks, I’ve got to go work on a montage of douja crapping into Unit 5 from different camera angles for the next show.

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Aftermath: OYHD

May 26th, 2005

Sir Zeno

*In the Mansion of Chaos Ruler, Sir Zeno is reclining in his chair, Swiss Army Belt over his shoulder and Mylisiv on his lap.*

QM: Why so depressed? You finally picked up a title belt…

Zeno: Yeah, but it puts me below Sarah in the scale of things. Honestly, couldn’t you have attacked her backstage?

QM: I was too busy kicking Sleazy-C’s balls into his throat.

Zeno: Ah, well… I’m a champion now. That’s all that matters…

QM: Still plan on killing her?

Zeno: You know it.

Mr. Paradox

*Meanwhile, in Hot Springs, South Dakota, Mr. Paradox is polishing the YGBKIADTAYOOYFM Title Belt while floating on a rubber alligator through Evans Plunge.*

Paradox: Welcome back, my friend. I hope your time with Studnuts hasn’t hardened you to the world.

*And in Tijuana, Mexico, Dr. Thrilla is sulking in a bar somewhere, polishing his teeth with an anti-rust agent. Once he’s done, he downs a whisky.*

Thrilla: *drunken metal clanging*

Dr. Thrilla

Bartender: (translated from Spanish) That’s your fifth one tonight. Had enough?

*Thrilla grabs the bartender’s collar.*

Thrilla: *drunken metal clanging*

Bartender: (translated from Spanish) All right, all right, I’ll get you another!

*And somewhere, at a pay phone, Meat Puppet has broken character. His voice sounds familiar.*

M-P: Why the hell didn’t I get booked for On Your Hard Drive?… I told Trey I was sorry for botching at Mayhem!… There’s still life in this gimmick, really!… Fine. Talk to you later. *Hangs up* I guess it’s back to being buried.

*He looks at his outfit.*

M-P: No pun intended.

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Ladder match Practise Session, Day 31? 32?

May 10th, 2005
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Ladder match Practise Session, Day 32

The Flunky: Okay, Coma…

Coma: It’s Godzilla! Yank the thingee, Helen, before it’s too late! Spong!

The Flunky: Whatever. Just climb the freakin’ ladder, already!

Coma: Charge! Invade Norway!


The Flunky: The ladder’s over this way, Coma. Want to get out of my car?

Coma: But it’s warm and fluffy in here! Grunt-a-gogo!

Hallucination Boy

The Flunky:*sigh* Hallucination Boy, you’re up.

HB: You’re telling me I am. I can see for miles! Look, the velocoraptors are in the swamp again!

The Flunky: Aitch Bee?

HB: Yes?

The Flunky: Just Climb. The freakin’. Ladder! Before. I. Kill you.

HB: Well, who put the bug up your girlscout uniform, Frau Katzenplunger? Fine, I’ll climb the stupid ladder. Look, there I go. Climbing, climbing, climbing. Happy?

The Flunky: Ecstatic. Now, let’s work on a top-of-the-ladder Liontamer.

Coma: ‘Scuse me guv, coming through, Ministry of Works! just need the ladder for a spot of ostrich matinence! Have it back by Thursaday, here’s a chitty, Bob’s you uncle, pip pip, ey wot!


HB: Oh great, how do I get down NOW?

The Flunky: How the hell did he do that? That’s not even possible! Coma! Coma, bring that back! Coma! COMA!

HB: Annnndd… scene!

[Fade it]

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“The Real Deal”

May 6th, 2005

XFactor Pete Trable

[The scene is a ridiculously decorated bachelor pad, complete with stupid stuff “cool” guys would decorate a place in hopes of bedding chicks— lava lamp, fur covered sofa, end table that looks like a giant hand, framed picture of Einstein, another framed picture (this one of deceased Beatle George Harrison), a “spider” lamp, a weight bench, and a bust of Malcolm X (that looks as pasty as Casper for some reason) etc. Okay, so maybe these things won’t get you laid, but what else is a single dude going to furnish his pad with? Okay, let me rephrase that— a single dude WITH MONEY. Which is why you don’t see a milk crate serving as a coffee table.

Segue- In “George Jefferson-struts” a man that looks to be in his early 30’s, wearing SURPLUS baggie, faded jeans, a pair of tan Lugz boots, a Clippers jersey (which, since they haven’t changed their shitty logo in forever LOOKS like a throw-back) and an authentic L.L. Cool J Kangaroo cap pulled down to his eyebrows. Oh yeah, he also has a retro, big-ass Run DMC chain necklace, large enough to keep even a frothing Doberman in the yard, around his neck. The man looks weathered enough to have some gray hairs in his goatee— but following the lead of Kevin Nash and Goldberg, he has blackened them in with some Just for Men to look, perhaps, “younger” on television. He plops on the furry couch, and starts to speak in a forceful, gruff voice that sounds like he just smoked a whole pack of Malboros. Or like Booker T who has just smoked an entire pack of Newports.]

Pete: Yo, I’m back suckas! Check this out—

[House of Pain’s “Jump Around” begins to play, but without the lyrics. Pete’s added his own—]

Pete: [singing/rapping] Yo Petey’s back…and that is a fact-
Andifyoudon’tlikeme… you ass must be whack!
Mylastname’s Trable, I fingerbanged Sable, wonderin’whyViscerachangedhisnamefromMabel.

But then again, why – should – I – really care?
I really don’t…so -don’t- ask- me -again.
What? You didn’t? Wellthensuckonmylittlefriend.

HisnameisShaft, butSamuel – L.isnotinsight.

He tried to get up and Iclockedhisassandmuffedhis’fro.
Got more moves than bowels and Jell-O.

So listen up, and your ass bitter listen good…

And why, you ask? Oh, it’s very simple.

It’s time to get down, you all are clowns, so get out your seats…



Pete: Who’s there? Well,whydontyouanswerthef’indoor?

I turned her down, ‘cause I don’t pay for that, you see?

I’m flyin’ HIGH, like Super -man without- a- cape.


Bealloveryou…LIKE – A – CHEAP- SUIT.


There’snostoppin’menow, oh hell no.
Ripoff’sgone,thosefags s-W-o.

Stealin’ my shit, making me sick…

They came to get down, I ran them outta town…. They stepped up and-



[stops singing]

Pete: The…. “Real….. Deal”…… is… HERE-AH!
’05….is……… YEAR-AH!

I’m in the house.
I’m a hungry cat, you’re a tasty mouse.

Run to your little hole in the wall.
Pete Trable conquers all.


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Training for SUM:OYHD

May 3rd, 2005
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Sir Zeno

*Our first stop is in Sir Zeno’s training room. Judging by the assorted equipment, he occasionally tortures political prisoners in here as well. Currently, the ruler of Dimension Z is strapped to a set of electrodes, with Nucleo the Not-Quite-Living Robot below him holding a lever.*


Zeno: Indeed I’m sure. And make damn sure to double the duration. I have two matches to get through at the PPV.

Nucleo: HERE-WE-GO.

*Nucleo pulls the lever, and Zeno goes rigid from the shock.*

Mr. Paradox

*Cut to Mr. Paradox, sword on one hip and jug of sake on the other. He’s wandering through a vacant lot, somewhere on Earth. A group of muggers in black suits step out, each one carrying an axe.*

Lead Mugger: Got any cash?

Mr. Paradox: No, but I do have this.

*There’s a blur, and Mr. Paradox is now standing behind the group, sword drawn. He puts the sword away, whereupon every last one of the muggers collapse in small, individual piles of flesh. He takes out a watch.*

Mr. Paradox: Hum. .15 seconds. Not my best time…

Dr. Thrilla

*Cut to a beautiful hillside, overlooking Steve Studnut’s house. Dr. Thrilla is again hard at work, slamming his sign over a rock with the name “Steve Studnuts” painted on it. As last time, the sign slips out of his hand and hits Steve’s window… only to bounce off. Apparently, he’s replaced the glass with something less breakable. Shrugging, Thrilla pulls a gun out of his surgical scrubs and takes a few shots at the walls before running off.*

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